


Wrong But Wromantic

by inamac



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Hand Job, M/M, Tree Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-31
Updated: 2010-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 11:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/inamac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco celebrate 'Pinch-Bum Day' in their own, inimitable, way...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong But Wromantic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'Festivals' at 'Daily Deviant'. The festival is real, and the title is from _1066 An All That_ (all the English History you can remember).

## Wrong, but Wromantic

Harry was a morning person. Normally he respected his boyfriend's more sedate internal clock and pattered about quietly until Draco was properly awake and fortified with morning tea and toast.

But not this morning. This morning Harry leapt from their bed as soon as the dawn chorus started, flung open the curtains, and, when Draco curled, squinting, under the covers, pounced back onto the bed, pulled off the duvet, and pinched his exposed buttock – hard.

"Ow! Whaddyadothafor?"

"Good morning, Draco! Happy Pinch-Bum Day!"

"Happy _what_?" Draco shrieked as he grabbed the covers back to cover the abused flesh.

"It's the twenty ninth of May – Pinch-Bum Day."

"No," mumbled Draco, reaching again for elusive sleep. "I don't believe there's any such thing. You're thinking of Mayday. You know: 'hurray, hurray, the First of May, outdoor nookie starts today!' I remember it distinctly. I still have the nettle-rash."

Harry examined what little he could see of Draco's naked back and neck. "No you don't," he said, firmly. "And this is different. Look, I'll show you." He dashed out into their sitting room and returned moments later with a large illustrated book of the sort that Muggles described as 'coffee table' – in this case it was big enough and glossy enough that one could have screwed a leg on each corner and actually used it as a coffee table. Draco recognised it instantly, and groaned.

"That bloody book. Remind me to hex Hermione with something painful the next time she calls."

"I think it was a brilliant wedding present," said Harry, leafing through the tome, "And you didn't complain about the 'Magic of Gay Sex' that she sent for our engagement."

"That woman has an unhealthy bibliophile streak and a warped sense of humour." Draco gave up any attempt to return to a comatose state as a bad job and pushed himself up to sit against the headboard. "All right. Show me which idiot Muggle custom you want to use as an excuse for a good shag today."

Harry settled down beside him, opening the book across both their laps. It was, as Draco had said, a book on English Traditional Customs, arranged by date. May was one of the thickest sections and Harry had turned almost to the end of the month, where the date was shown at the head of the page, garlanded with appropriate foliage.

"Here," said Harry, running his finger down the page to indicate a short entry on regional customs. "_Pinch-Bum-Day: On May 29, children challenge each other to show their oak sprigs or apples, and those not wearing one would have their bottoms pinched. _ See? And you haven't got..." He broke off. Draco had gone white.

"Oh shit," he breathed. "Oak Apple Day. And I bloody forgot. Dad'll kill me."

Harry frowned. "Come again?" The query didn't receive the facetious reply he'd expected. Draco had leapt from the bed and was half-way to the bathroom, wand flourishing to operate the shower ahead of his arrival.

"Where's the nearest oak tree?" he yelled over the sound of the high pressure water.

"What? I think there's one on the roundabout where you turn off for Sainsbury's," Harry remembered. "Why?"

"No, somewhere private. There must be a local estate or wood or something. Ow!"

"I keep telling you to remember to adjust the temperature, Draco. And there aren't many woods in the middle of Manchester. I suppose there would be oak trees in Wythenshawe."

"I am not," Draco said, emerging from the bathroom rubbing vigorously at his hair with a towel, "Going to celebrate the Restoration of King Charles the Second in a place where the chief attraction is a statue of Oliver Cromwell. Especially somewhere that will be full of Muggles. Find somewhere else."

"Why," Harry asked, in what he thought were reasonable let's-humour-the-idiot tones, "are you going to celebrate the Restoration? That was a Muggle thing."

Draco was dragging on his sweatshirt and was therefore muffled. "Wouldn't have happened without Wizards," he said. "Specifically Malfoys."

"Your family had something to do with the Muggle Civil War? _Your family_? Whatever happened to Pure-Blood Separatism?"

"This was before the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy," Draco said, hopping on one foot as he dragged on his sneakers. "When the Crown still appointed Royal Wizards. Don't you know any history?"

"We had Professor Binns," Harry reminded him.

"Point." Draco conceded. "Grab your wand and hang on. I'll have to apparate us somewhere appropriate."

Harry, who hadn't seen Draco this panicky since their stag night, did as he was told. The ground shifted under his feet – and the next thing he knew...

"Draco, your aim is off, mate. We're halfway up a tree."

They were standing at a fork where two huge branches separated form the main trunk of the tree, some twenty feet above the ground. The tree must have been at least three hundred years old judging from the girth of the trunk, and there was more than enough space for the two of them to stand comfortably. In fact, Draco was leaning lazily back against the more vertical branch, eyes half-closed and his hands working at the zip of his jeans. Harry, balanced more precariously, looked him with a mixture of bafflement and lust. Even for his unconventional boyfriend this was spectacularly peculiar behaviour.

"Where did you expect to be?" Draco asked in tones of sweet reasonableness.

"Um..." Deciding that in this case he had better humour his partner until he knew exactly what was going on, Harry kept quiet and parted the leafy branches surrounding them to look out at a wooded landscape that might have been anywhere in England. He refocused on the leaves, which were unmistakable. "Anywhere but up an oak tree," he replied. "Draco, am I going to get an explanation any time soon? Because..."

He got no further. Draco's lips landed squarely on his with all the force of the Hogwarts Express hitting the buffers. It was followed by Draco's tongue, driving into the warm tunnel of his mouth - and Harry abandoned simile and devoted himself to reciprocating.

His hand crept down Draco's body, feeling the rise and fall of his ribcage, the faster beat of his heart, and closing at last about the warm, hardening length of his cock. Draco broke the kiss and his head fell back against the branch, mindless of the shower of tiny insects and pieces of bark that lodged in his still shower-damp hair. He moaned, and the sound alone brought response from Harry.

"Wait," he said, turning his attention to his own clothing. He had always favoured looser, more casual styles than Draco, and now that paid dividends. He was already hard, and now he leaned forward, securing Draco against the branch, and pressing their cocks together before wrapping his hand around them both.

Draco arched against him, bringing both his own arms up to grab at a gnarled bole over his head, using the purchase to grind their groins together, cock to cock, balls to balls.

Harry came first, but Draco came harder. For both if them it was a while before they could relax again into a comforting kiss. When Harry broke away it was with regret.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Never better." Draco stretched, and then frowned as the motion dislodged the mess in his hair.

"Uh, Draco, why are we shagging in an oak tree?"

"Long story," he replied. "Back in the seventeenth century Simon Marcus Malfoy, Court Magician, used nature magic to hide Prince Charles from pursuing Parlimentary forces in an oak tree."

"That bit I get. But the sex?"

"Apparently Charles wasn't too keen on spending the night up a tree – so Simon asked his new wife, Melvina, to ... entertain him. And Charles was so grateful for their sacrifice that ... Look, the magic stuff is complicated, but all you need to know is that in order to preserve the fortunes of the Wizards of Britain every new-wed Malfoy has to spend the anniversary of the Restoration immediately after their marriage _Fornicating Upon the Oak and Within the Bower_. Which means, in this case, us."

Harry looked at him. With his green eyes reflecting the colour of the leaves around them and his long black hair tumbling in unruly curls around his shoulders he looked much as the fugitive King must have when he had entered the magical pact with an earlier Malfoy. He frowned as another thought occurred. "You mean your _parents_ spent a night doing this? Up a tree?"

"No. My parents had the oak-framed four poster bed that King Charles presented to Simon and Melvina on his Restoration. And, like generations of Malfoy's before them, they remembered the day before to cut fresh oak boughs to decorate the canopy and create a bower. Which was why my Father invited us to spend Whitsun at the Manor this year. Which you declined, and for which he is going to kill me if I can't convince him that we had alternative plans to fulfil the conditions all along. And _that_ is why we are up this tree and why, if you don't shut up and get on with the fornication I'm going to show you exactly why today is called 'Pinch Bum Day'."

"Oh." Harry reached around to rest his hand on Draco's arse for the second time that day. "Well, I suppose we'd better get on with it then."

End


End file.
